


Paths We Have Buried

by laceofstars



Series: silence from the broken crags [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laceofstars/pseuds/laceofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His advisers had walked in; all but Leliana, who knew better then to search for the Inquisitor when he made himself scarce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paths We Have Buried

**Author's Note:**

> I reloaded almost an entire playthrough after writing this because I couldn't break up with the Iron Bull. I also committed to writing a multi-chapter companion fic, which will show up eventually. So this could also be titled 'How I Unknowingly Avoided "The Bad Ending".'

“I’m not ashamed.”  


Cadash finds himself seated on the bed. Skin stiffening from the cold air that invades everything in Skyhold. The Qunari shrugs, massive shoulders twisting away as he reaches for his pants. Crumpled on the floor where they’d been flung aside with abandon.  


“I’m not.”  


The words sound weak, even to his own ears.  


Events weren’t meant to play out this way. The dwarf had meant to give Bull the necklace. Even now it lay heavy in his pocket, a lump of iron equal to the slab in his throat.  


His advisors had walked in; all but Leliana, who knew better then to search for the Inquisitor when he made himself scarce.  


I forgot to lock the door. Why didn’t I lock the door? An unsettled mantra as his words fumbled over themselves, painting himself a fool.  


His personal business was his own. Even so, he had tripped over himself to tell his council that they had nothing to worry about. A hefty insult to the man who had shown him nothing but kindness.  


Even a man as genial as Bull couldn’t overlook the implication.  


“I… Bull.”  


But Cadash finds that he meant his words.  


Bull pauses, fiddling with the straps of his harness. Cadash knows the strength and surety that those hands are capable of. Hands large enough to lift him clean off the ground, muscles bulging and shifting beneath scarred skin and chipped vitaar. The memory catches at him like a grappling hook, inspiring another wave of wretchedness.  


When it’s supposed to be quick, you don’t lock the door.  


Cadash doesn’t know how to explain himself, and he doesn’t know where to start. But Bull deserves an explanation.  


“I’m sorry, those words were cruel.”  


Bull turns to look at him, fully dressed. He could leave if he wanted to, but Cadash is relieved when he stays. A hooded eye in the dim room, fingers clenching into fists, then relaxing repeatedly.  


“You panicked. I get it,” his voice bland. But beneath the layers of neutrality, his voice is laced with grievance.  


Bull would probably let him get away with it. They could go on as before, even if their touches would no longer linger; their smiles would dim. But it’s not fair to Bull, and it’s not fair to himself.  


“I’ve never felt shame in my affection for you, Bull.”  


The Qunari tucked them into the side of the tavern for their hurried kisses. Behind the practice mannequin riddled with the dwarf’s arrows. The result of a drunken evening; the two of them laughing as Bull hoisted Cadash over his shoulder. He remembers dropping his bow, fingers reaching for the Qunari’s horns, rough like dragon scales as they kissed.  


In the present, he looks down at his hands. He wants to reach out to the other man, grasp at bone and the soft grey skin on Bull’s waist. The fevered pulse against his temples ache for it. If he cries out in his sleep, there will be no one to hear if he doesn’t reach out.  


Cadash weaves his fingers together, clenching them tight enough to bruise. Thoughts crashing like plummeting stone, until something drops out.  


“You give me everything,” he whispers, the air shallow in his lungs. “And yet...you don’t take anything from me. Not that I can see.”  
Bull shifts, his brows lowering in confusion.  


“I…,” the Qunari hesitates, passing fingers under tired eyes. “I could work on that?”  


Cadash smiles miserably, “With time, we could have worked on that.”  


Bull folds his arms against his chest. Cadash takes a moment to mourn the loss. The stability of placing his hands on that chest and knowing it would hold.  


“I had a lover once,” Cadash says abruptly. Words that have been lurking ever since he realized the dragon tooth was going to stay in his pocket. The shift in topic is tolerated by Bull, but his eyebrows raise in something close to derision.  


“An old warrior exiled to the surface; he ended up with the Carta. There aren’t a lot of options for a surface dwarf,” Cadash adds, his smile self-depreciating. “We worked a couple of jobs together. We grew close.”  


Cadash doesn’t expect sympathy for his tale, only using it as a means to explain himself. But Bull’s silence stings until he glances up. The Qunari’s face is still confused, but at least it no longer contains scorn.  


“We mostly got the lyrium jobs, and by the end, Farouk was a bit muddled. Always placed himself between the stone-cursed rock and me.” Cadash drops the name clumsily, but it is still familiar, even after what feels like an age.  


“In any case, we had a job down in Orzammar, a meet and greet with a new supplier.”  


Farouk had been apprehensive, but Cadash had wheedled the other dwarf into accompanying him. The trips to Orzammar had been his favorites. Emerging from the Deep Road tunnels into the hidden underground city, lit from below by the massive power of the earth. Staying in the shadows, he would track the nobles from abandoned balconies. His senses roused by the heat and noise, the geometric march of pillars and the looming weight of the Paragons. The nearness of the Stone lending a sturdiness to his limbs for months afterwards.  


“Maybe it was bad timing; Bhelen was cracking down on Dust town in an attempt to shine his throne a bit. Or maybe someone whispered to the wrong person. We got caught. I got branded.”  


Cadash traces a slash of ink across his cheekbone. Bull takes an aborted step towards him, his arms falling from his chest, but the dwarf is too lost in memory to see.  


They made Farouk hold him down. The Orzammar guards hadn’t wanted to touch him. Stone-blind, they whispered, staring at him in a mix of fascination and disgust. Cradling the younger dwarf’s head, black ink tears had traced down Farouk’s brands.  


“They meant to give us to the Legion of the Dead.” The Inquisitor threw a questioning look at the Iron Bull, who nodded. “But I’m a Cadash. Had my breakout planned by morning, and the contacts after a couple of days.”  


“I kept telling him stories of what we would do back on the surface. My face was red and swollen, but I kept telling him these stories,” Cadash laughs, puffing out his cheeks and gesturing with his hands. The tattoos had gotten infected. “I told him we would drop the Carta. We could go to the sea. Maybe take a ship to Rivain and set up a small dwarven shop. Surfacers like those sort of trinkets, I told him. We’d be set for life.”  


Cadash grows silent, the memory numbing his tongue. He berates himself for bringing this tale up onto the surface; berates himself for using it as justification. Bull stays quiet, having taken a seat against the far wall. His hands hang loosely over drawn knees.  


“He wouldn’t leave with me. Told me that his honor bade him stay. His Maker blighted honor,” Cadash spits the last word out, his face creasing into a sneer.  


A failure that still echoes through his chest in the early mornings when he can’t sleep.  
  
“So I left without him. And I’ve been carrying that pain right here,” Cadash pounds against his chest. Hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. “Ever since.”  


“It’s childish, and it’s selfish, but I can’t go through that again.”  


Cadash slides off the edge of the bed, staggering the few steps until he reaches the Qunari. He traces a hand down the tip of a horn, letting it linger against the side of that scarred face. Bull barely has to tilt his head back, but his mouth is forgiving, and his eyebrows furrow with thought.  


“The Qun is fine for those who want to follow it, but I can’t have it hanging over my head. I can’t follow you if they call you back.” Bull opens his mouth as if to say something, but Cadash speaks before he can.  


“I won’t have you question yourself on my behalf. Not after everything you’ve sacrificed.”  


Bull’s voice is soft with a rumbling depth. Like thunder amid the crashing waves of the Storm Coast, rousing shades of memories: quiet instructions against sliding skin, soft bindings against his wrists, and the heavy weight of callouses along his lower back.  


“I get it,” said quietly this time. “Thank you.”  


“We’ve had a lot of fun, Bull.” Playfully, Cadash pats the other man’s chest, but when his hands begin to linger, he pulls back. “And I’m not ashamed of what we had. Only of myself.”  


Cadash slides out of the hands that have crept onto his waist. A soft kiss to the brow, and he is out the door.  


His advisors had left it cracked in their haste. Mutters throughout the fortress will intensify over the next few weeks.  


Cadash rubs distractedly at his chest, heading for the stairs leading down into the courtyard. If his intent had been to calm the strain on his heart, perhaps he’d been mistaken; a new pain has joined the old, the sharp agony of a trap snapping shut.

  



End file.
